Relieved of Duty
by Freckles04
Summary: Following the battle for Earth, Kaidan Alenko has been relieved of duty as he deals with the aftereffects of Shepard's actions.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story is being published post-by-post at .com. I'll post entries here in batches. This is my first attempt at Mass Effect fanfic, and it does take place after ME3, so beware of spoilers! As always, thank you so much to BioWare for encouraging community creations. Kaidan Alenko is not mine, I'm just borrowing him for a bit._

* * *

><p><strong>November 14, 2186<strong>

I don't even know what I'm supposed to write here. The counsellor's been pushing me to start this journal, to write down everything that's in my head. It's bullshit.

There. Started. Happy?

* * *

><p><strong>December 20, 2186<strong>

I've been "relieved of duty". Damned Alliance likes tossing that phrase around. Now I get to sit in my quarters, staring at the four walls and quietly going crazy. Crazier.

Is this what Sh—

I couldn't hold back the punch. I saw my arm jutting out toward the admiral, the biotic blue around it, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. He'd said something, something about her…God, I can't even remember now. All I remember is being so damned angry that he'd even think those words, let alone say them, and I acted.

Counsellor says I need to write in here more frequently. Guess I'll have the time now.

* * *

><p><strong>January 1, 2187<strong>

New Year's Day used to feel like a fresh start. I'm trying to drum up that sort of optimism again, but it's hard. Really hard. There's just so much to do.

Vancouver's a mess. I couldn't sit in the barracks anymore, being useless, and they wouldn't let me join the Alliance crews helping to rebuild since I'm still "relieved of duty", so I came up to the family land in the interior. Mom's here. Dad was here for a bit, but he's gone back to the city.

I walked him out to the skycar when he left. He turned to me, and I thought he was going to say something, but he just looked at me. You know, I almost would have preferred him tell me it's going to be all right rather than just look at me in silence. He clapped me on the shoulder, then left.

Did he just not know what to say? Or is there nothing that _can_ be said?

* * *

><p><strong>January 3, 2187<strong>

I dreamed last night. I knew I was dreaming and by God, I wanted to wake up, but I couldn't.

I was saying goodbye to her again, and it was so bloody real. I could hear the explosions in the distance, the shouting, the gunfire, but none of it mattered. I could feel her hand in mine. I leaned in and I could smell her hair, that scent of strawberries that always surprised me.

And when I kissed her, my heart broke, because I knew it wasn't real. She's gone.

Are you haunting me, Shepard?

I can't do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**January 14, 2187**

I remember your face after Virmire, you know, how worn down and defeated you looked. I think that was really the first time I saw you. All of your masks had disappeared, all of the walls you used to keep people out, gone. I admired your strength—I had from the beginning—but I think that was when I really fell for you.

I can't remember if I told you that. I should have. I probably didn't. It hurts to think of Virmire, because I always think of Ash and I know you did, too. I didn't want to put pain in your eyes again, not with everything else we were dealing with.

I'm sorry. I should have told you.

* * *

><p><strong>January 16, 2187<strong>

Joker came by today. I wasn't expecting it—I didn't even know he knew I was staying out here. Someone probably let it slip, accidentally on purpose.

He's been running the Normandy back and forth between the Sol outposts, ferrying scientists, goods, sundries. Sounds pretty boring, but at least he's still flying.

He misses EDI. I could hear it in his voice when he talked about how quiet the Normandy was. He looks older. Not joking around as much. I still remember those first days, working with him on the SR1, trying to figure out if he was an ass or not. I decided a long time ago that he is, but he's still a good guy.

I'm glad he was with you when you were with Cerberus. He might be an ass, but I know he had your back.

He asked if I'd gotten any intel on what happened, if I knew any more about those last moments.

I don't. I wish I did.

I want to blame him for not being there, for not pulling your ass out of the fire. He owed you that much, didn't he? Damn it, you died three years ago because he wouldn't get out of that chair! What if you were just waiting for the Normandy to swoop in? What if that's what it would have taken to get you home safe?

I didn't say any of that. I almost did. I thought about it. Maybe he saw something in my eyes because he only stayed for one beer.

God, how much would I give to be back on the SR1, sitting beside him and needling him about Nihlus again. I never would have thought those would be the simple days in my life, running a mystery mission to Eden Prime, but they were. We knew the universe then. We understood it. And then we didn't, and everything—_everything_—changed.

I want to change it all back. Why can't I?

* * *

><p><strong>January 17, 2187<strong>

Why didn't you take me with you? Goddamn it, that was just like you, making all of the decisions. You didn't have to do it on your own. You know I would have followed you into hell, happily. I could have been there. I should have been there.

Didn't I tell you to come back to me? Didn't I tell you I couldn't lose you again?

God_damn_ it, Shepard.

* * *

><p><strong>January 19, 2187<strong>

Spent yesterday morning in the woods throwing shit around with my biotics. Spent yesterday afternoon in bed with a migraine. Fun.

The one (and only) benefit to being "relieved of duty" is that I can take meds without worrying about being unfit. So I did. Slept away most of the evening and through the night, and I don't think I dreamed.

It's tempting to lean on the drugs. They dull everything, all of the pain. I could lose days. I could escape.

Maybe I would find you.

I asked Mom to hide them.


	3. Chapter 3

**January 25, 2187**

Got a letter from one of my students today. E-mail, message, whatever. It was good to hear from her. She and four others are in L.A., helping with the rebuild. Another three are in Vancouver. Two are MIA and presumed dead. Another killed himself last week.

It makes me want to throw up. It's bad enough that we lost two to the war, but for Yannick to commit suicide? Could I have made a difference if I'd been there, with them, instead of up here, away from everything? I should be. I should be working with the Alliance instead of having an enforced vacation.

This is bullshit. I can help. They need to let me help.

* * *

><p><strong>February 2, 2187<strong>

_Request to return to active duty denied._

It's the damned counsellor. She told them I couldn't handle things, I guarantee it. That stupid interview, those stupid questions…

Yes, I'm having headaches, but I've always had headaches. I work through them. Yes, I still have emotions about Shepard's about things, but I think I'm entitled. I lost the woman I loved twice. Twice! Yes, I'm angry!

I'm so damned angry.

You left me. I told you I couldn't lose you again, and you left me anyway.

Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

* * *

><p><strong>February 2 or 3 or…whatever<strong>

Whiskey works just as good asthe headache meds. Yep. Especilaly a whole botlte of it.

There's something about sititng on the deck here and listenning to the woods. The Reapers took a lot, butthey couldn't take this. Nope. It's cold, no cricketsor anything, but peaceful. It seeps inside you, the quiet.

Did you have a chance to look down and see what you were saving? There's nothin quite like the view of home from Luna Base, and it had to have been something simlar from teh Citadel. Big, blue, maybe somelights here and there. Probabyl red from the fires. You wouldn't have ignroed that. It wouldhave been an extra reminder.

I think the moon has your face. If I shout out I lov eyou to it, will you hear it?

I LOVE YOU.

I love you.

Goddamn it, Shepard.


	4. Chapter 4

**February 10, 2187**

Mom dragged me into town tonight. She said I was moping too much. She's probably right, but that doesn't mean that socializing is the best idea. Especially not at her weekly game of Hearts. Really, Mom.

It wasn't fun, but it was sort of good. Mom's friends all flitted about and fussed over me for a bit, like I was six, not thirty-six. Made me damned uncomfortable. They meant well, though, and it was plain to see they were happy to have me there. Yeah, I was the Alliance Major, the Spectre, but I was Mom's son, too, and that almost seemed to mean more than everything else. It was a nice sanity check.

Their game reminded me of some good times on the Normandy. We had a poker night—you declined to join us, saying you didn't want to take all of our shore leave credits. James and I had a bet going that the real reason was that you just didn't know how to play poker. I still think that's it. You would've had a hell of a poker face, though.

We did a lot of talking that night. James likes to toss around stupid stories—did you ever hear him and Garrus go at it? It was all in good fun. Camaraderie. By the end of the night, we were toasting your prowess at, well, a lot of things.

I'd had a couple of whiskey by then, and headed up to your cabin. I still remember that smile you gave me when you opened the door—that sleepy half-grin, indulgent, understanding. I slurred something at you and you shook your head, still smiling, then pulled me inside.

We didn't have enough nights together, Shepard. Maybe it's unrealistic of me to want more. Definitely selfish. But I do want more. I want you here.

Those words, those thoughts…they don't make me quite as mad as they did last month, or the month before. Is that progress?

* * *

><p><strong>February 15, 2187<strong>

Sometimes, just before I fall asleep, I remember walking up to you on Horizon. My heart was in my throat—or, it wanted to be. I couldn't let it, though. I had to be all business. Except I wasn't. It wasn't.

You were back from the dead. Everything I'd heard, all the rumours, all true. You were standing before me, a legend, like I said. A ghost. And you looked exactly the same, like two years of nothing hadn't just passed.

God, do you have any idea how hard it was not to run up to you and wrap you in my arms? It wasn't the time, though, not with the colony decimated and the whole Cerberus thing. I had so many damned questions and instead of asking them, instead of saying "let's take care of this and then take care of us", I ripped into you.

I just didn't _know_. I wanted to believe you. I wanted to think that I knew you, that you wouldn't have left me hanging for two years, that you wouldn't have had anything to do with the Collectors or terrorists. I know now, but then…

Two years. Two years of coming to grips with the idea that you were gone. Two years of trying to figure out how the hell to keep on. _Two years_.

Maybe that's why this is so hard. I let you go before, and you came back. Maybe if I'd just held on longer, you'd have come back sooner, or it would have been easier to accept it, or…something. I don't know.

All I know is I don't want to let you go. Not again.

* * *

><p><strong>February 16, 2187<strong>

I have to let you go. But not yet, okay? Not yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**March 1, 2187**

Mom headed back into Vancouver yesterday. Dad's busy, working on various task teams, so he doesn't get out here often and she misses him. I told her to go. I'll be okay.

I'm not quite ready to head back into the city. The barracks don't appeal, considering I'd pretty much be confined to them instead of helping, and my apartment is gone, the building obliterated. I suppose I could stay with my folks, but they deserve some time without me. I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself.

After she left, I ventured into the nearby town. The Reapers didn't touch up here, or, if they did, the signs are already gone. A lot of people have gone into Vancouver to help, but almost as many have just stayed out here, living their lives as normally as they can.

I sat in the park for a bit. It was a nice day, a bit warmer than it should be. The snow's gone, for the most part. We'll probably get another storm before April's done, but spring is definitely on the way. It felt good just to sit, the sun keeping the mountain chill away, and watch the town move around me. I was alone in a crowd and I kind of liked it. I didn't _feel_ alone, but I didn't have people bothering me.

I don't know if that makes any sense. Does it make sense to not want to be alone but to not want to interact with anyone, too? Maybe I should cross this paragraph out so the counsellor doesn't see it. She'd probably brand me a sociopath.

I'm not sure how long I sat there before someone got up the nerve to sit with me. I tried not to be grumpy about it, or resentful. She was nice enough. Her name is Hillary. She's the clerk in the corner store; she'd seen me in there a few times, knew who I was, the whole bit. She didn't actually talk much after that. She seemed content just to sit with me, quietly.

It was sort of nice.

* * *

><p><strong>March 5, 2187<strong>

They're holding a ceremony in your honor in next week, the six-month mark. Hackett messaged me about it and suggested I attend. You know how it is when he "suggests" something. They want me there in my full dress blues, on display like some trophy. Humanity's second Spectre, as if that means anything right now.

"_Shepard's gone, but that's okay, because we've got her replacement right here! Just ignore the fact that he's on forced leave."_

Right.

I don't know if I'll go. It'll be boring as hell, you know it will be. And I'm not really in a good headspace for it. I don't know if I'll ever be.

It'll just be really hard. They don't need me there.

* * *

><p><strong>March 10, 2187<strong>

You know, that last kiss…I knew it was goodbye. You did too, I could see it in your eyes. You weren't coming back. I didn't want it to be true, which is why I said what I did. I had _just_ found you again, I had _just_ gotten my head on straight, and we ran out of time. We always ran out of time.

There are so many things I wish I could have said. I never told you how lovely your eyes were, that shade of not-quite-grey and not-quite-green. I never told you how much I loved being surprised by your strawberry shampoo. Do you know how disconcerting it was to be in armor, the battle just over, and to catch a hint of it? It always threw me back into your quarters, wrapped around you.

I never told you how much I wanted to grow old with you, because I think part of me knew it wasn't going to happen. I still wanted it to, though. I wanted to have a place on English Bay where we could sit and watch the sun set, drinking beer and trading stories. It would have been a good life, Shepard. The best.

What I don't regret is having told you I love you. I did that one thing right, anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**March 12, 2187**

I went to the ceremony. Decked out in my full dress blues and everything. I think you would have liked it. James was there. Sam Traynor, Hackett, Adams, Daniels. A lot of other people I don't know. My folks, too.

Thank God the organizers didn't ask me to say anything. I just had to stand there while the higher-ups said stuff. Hackett, as always, got right to the point. "We wouldn't be here without Commander Shepard." He said more, but not much more. That was the point of this, of everything. You saved us all, Shepard, and I don't think anyone will forget it. I won't let them forget it.

It was hard, but not as hard as I thought it would be. They had some holos of you and…it was good seeing you again, Shepard. Really good.

I don't know where they dug it up, but someone had found the speech you did before you attacked the Collector base. I hadn't heard it before and, God, I almost had to leave. It was so _you_. If I'd heard that, if I'd been there…

I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm sorry I wasted time on that. We had so little of it and I just tossed it out the window. God, I'm so stupid.

Afterwards, I went to Mom and Dad's, stood on their deck and looked out over English Bay. I thought about that "sanity check" we had on the Citadel. Something shifted, inside my chest, as I toasted you. I've been so angry, so damned angry, but that fell away. It hurt, Shepard. God, it hurt. It still does.

In that toast, I tried to say goodbye. I couldn't. Not yet.

* * *

><p><strong>March 15, 2187<strong>

I ran into Hillary at the corner store this afternoon. She mentioned she'd seen me on the vids from the ceremony. I expected her to make a comment about the dress uniform, maybe, and I started thinking about something I could say in return to let her know I wasn't interested. At all.

She didn't, though. All she said was, "It's hard, isn't it?" Like she knew.

Turns out her fiancé died in the first attacks on Vancouver. He was in town on business, arranging a new supplier for their store. I didn't know what to say. I think I mumbled that I was sorry, and left.

It's not the same. I mean, in some ways, sure. We've both lost someone we love. Is it arrogance to think that you were so much more, though? You weren't just the woman I loved. You were Commander Shepard, the person who stopped the original Reaper invasion, the reason we had any shot at all. You weren't just important to me. You were important to everyone.

But no one knew you like I did. And yeah, that's hard.

* * *

><p><strong>March 23, 2187<strong>

I've been dreaming again. Really bad ones, lately. I don't know why they've started up now, when I've got another psych exam next week. Maybe that's why. Stress and so on. Worry. I don't want my request for active duty to be denied again.

I'm feeling better, calmer, not quite so close to breaking. I've hated being forced off duty, but I'll admit I needed it. I needed this, the quiet, the solitude. Time to think about you, time to think about me, time to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do now.

I still don't know the answer to that one. Working on it.

I'm wondering if I should contact Dr. Chakwas for some sleeping meds, just to get me through to the exam. I don't want to be a wreck when I sit in front of the counsellor again, and I can feel myself starting to fray a little. I don't want to lose this new calm I've found, but it's hard to sleep.

I keep seeing your body. We never found it, after; this is just my imagination filling in holes so helpfully, as imaginations tend to do. It's _awful_, Shepard. I don't want those images in my head. I don't want to imagine what you looked like because it wasn't you any longer. _You_ were gone.

I want to remember you like you were that last night, before we raided the Illusive Man's base. There was something in your eyes that hadn't been there before. Uncertainty. You weren't sure if we were ready, if the fleet was ready, if we'd win. It reminded me of how vulnerable you looked after Virmire. You weren't the Commander anymore, just the woman.

God, I wanted to hold you and tell EDI to lock the cabin door and just keep the galaxy at bay. Forever. I wanted to just look at you in the light from the stars, drink you in. You were so damned beautiful, Shepard, inside and out.

That's the image I want in my head. I'll try to hold onto it for tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>March 30, 2187<strong>

The psych exam was yesterday. I haven't heard the results yet. The counsellor nodded when I spoke, but I doubt I impressed her with any profound insights. She agreed that it seems I've made progress, though, and she suggested I start attending weekly group sessions—I'm "ready for it", she said.

Maybe. We'll see.

It's weird, you know? I'm in this place where I'm not feeling much of anything. I guess that's good? It's better than randomly biotic-punching people. I'm not apathetic. I'm just tired.

It's your birthday next week. I didn't mention that to her. She probably knows.


	7. Chapter 7

**April 11, 2187**

Going into town to distract myself from the fact that it's your birthday was a good idea, in theory. In practice, I'm not so sure. I'm still a bit overwhelmed.

The town was filled with people _celebrating_, Shepard. There were decorations up all over the town square, despite the snow from a few days ago. They waved in the wind, and a few had fallen down into the slush, but it didn't matter. Blue ribbons were everywhere (for the Alliance, I think, maybe the Normandy?), the N7 logo, pictures of you.

They had a band. They had clowns. Clowns! The square was packed, people smiling and laughing and carrying blue streamers. It was like a party. A birthday party.

The reeve stood up on a podium and said a few words about _Shepard being humanity's savior_and how this was just one of a multitude of celebrations happening around the world. They fired up a vid screen and showed New York. London. L.A. Toronto. Moscow. God, I had a lump in my throat the size of the Rockies. Then someone spotted me in the crowd and they dragged me up on stage, because I'd known you. They shoved me in front of the mic and I just stared at them.

I hate making speeches, did I ever tell you that? I never pick the right words, I never get the tone right. I'm too hesitant, too worried that I'll say the wrong thing. But as I looked at all the faces of the townsfolk staring at me, it struck me that they just wanted to be a bit closer to the legend, and I could do that, couldn't I?

So I told them about the woman I loved. I told them how you weren't some automaton programmed to do what you did. You were a woman who found herself faced with impossible odds and what made you special, what made you _great_, was your refusal to back down before them. You never gave up, Shepard. Even when we saw Earth burning, surrounded by Reapers, you never gave up. We knew the odds, we knew the magnitude, better than anyone, and if anyone could be forgiven for cracking, it was you. But you didn't.

It cost you, I know it did—I saw it in your eyes when we left Anderson standing in the harbour, I saw it that night before the Illusive Man's base. You felt every loss as though you'd ordered those soldiers to their deaths yourself.

I don't think the people listening to me expected that. I think they'd expected to hear about your bravery, maybe a story about your heroism, but anyone could tell them that, right? In the years to come, after I'm gone, after everyone who knew you is nothing but a memory, those stories will live on and grow and become greater with every telling, but few will remember that Commander Shepard was, at the end of every day, a woman, a human being, just like them.

It's important that they know that. You were the best of us, but you were still one of us.

* * *

><p><strong>April 12, 2187<strong>

Hillary showed up at my doorstep after I left the celebrations yesterday. She brought a bottle of wine. Nice of her. We sat on the deck for awhile, drinking and listening to the woods, talking a bit. She said her fiancé's birthday after he was gone was tough to get through. She gets it.

The party in town helped a little, but it hurt, too. I never got to celebrate your birthday with you, Shepard. Another regret to add to the pile, right? With our luck, any birthday celebrations would have been interrupted by Joker with a Council message or some urgent need to run somewhere to intercept something. The story of us, right?

Right.

* * *

><p><strong>April 13, 2187<strong>

I've been debating writing this. I put my hands on the keyboard I don't know how many times, then found something else to go do. I intended to write this in the last entry, but didn't.

No, Kaidan, you are not going to run off again. You are going to write this, damn it. You are going to grow a pair and…

I slept with Hillary.

You know me. You know I'm not one for casual sex. You know my thoughts on it, that it's a connection that should mean something to both people. This wasn't that, though; neither she nor I have any illusions about it. It was physical only. I don't have feelings for her beyond gratitude for just being there. We both needed it. We both needed to not be in our own heads for a little bit.

I hope you can understand that. I think you can. This is what you probably felt with Taylor, wasn't it?

God, that makes it sound like this was some sort of revenge thing and it wasn't. It wasn't, damn it. I just needed to feel something other than sadness or anger. That's what I've been for the last six months, you know? I needed to know if I'm capable of anything else, anymore.

I think I am. Maybe. In time?

I don't have to justify this. I'm not going to.

I'm heading back to Vancouver tomorrow. Got word that my request to return to active duty was granted.


	8. Chapter 8

**April 19, 2187**

First few days back were good. Not great. They've got me behind a desk.

I understand it, I do. I messed up. I'll need to earn back the brass's trust. I need to prove I'm not a loose cannon. But still, it's frustrating. I didn't join the Alliance to fly a desk, checking spreadsheets to make sure column A matches column B. I joined to help people. That's the main reason I accepted the Spectre title, too. Not that being a Spectre means much right now—the Council isn't even in session.

The galaxy is pure chaos. The destruction of the Reapers wrecked some of the relays and heavily damaged others. Some have been fixed, others haven't, which makes inter-system travel sketchy at best, inter-system communication too. Some folks are getting by with FTL for the moment for relatively short hops, if they have to.

The Council is occupied with their own races' needs for the moment. A lot of rebuilding has to happen at the planet level before we can get back to anything approaching normal. And with the Citadel all but destroyed, we're missing the centre cog for the Systems Alliance.

The Citadel is still in orbit around Earth, defunct and abandoned. I thought by now they'd have moved it elsewhere, but no. At first, they treated it like a crime scene, only top brass and investigators allowed on board. I asked for that assignment, in the days and weeks that followed your death, but it was denied. Probably a good thing. I don't know if I would have done much but look for you, any trace of you I could find.

In my return-to-work debriefings, they told me that the Citadel mission has switched from recovery to research. They're still picking it apart, but the focus has changed from finding out what happened with you up there to learning all of its secrets. With the destruction of the Reapers, it's something of a moot point, I think, but that's government for you. Human, asari, turian or salarian, bureaucracy is all the same, right?

Maybe in a few weeks, I'll check around and see what the chances are of getting a transfer up there, if only temporarily. I'd like to see what you did, in those last moments.

* * *

><p><strong>April 20, 2187<strong>

Hillary called today, asked if I was going to come up to the interior this weekend. I put her off, said being back at work was still too busy, too new, for me to leave the city, even for a couple of days. I don't think she bought it. I probably wouldn't either.

It's just awkward, you know? I don't want a relationship with her. Hell, I don't know if that's even what she's looking for. I don't want to talk to her about it, because it doesn't matter. That night was one night. That's all.

Does that make me callous? Insensitive? I don't know.

I'm not ready. She helped me see that, and I'm thankful she did. I hope I haven't hurt her. Shit, I probably have.

Is it stupid of me to say I hope I haven't hurt you? I mean, you're gone, I know you're gone. I write all of these entries to you, but I know you'll never read them. I'm might be tripping on the edge of a medical discharge but I'm not that delusional.

Maybe there's a heaven or an afterlife of some sort, maybe you can hear the thoughts I'm directing at you, and if that's the case, you _know_ what I've been feeling. I hope that counts for something, Shepard.

I still love you, I always will.

* * *

><p><strong>April 24, 2187<strong>

I heard Garrus's voice today for the first time in months. The channel was awful, crackly and missing every fifth syllable, but it was him. God, I never thought hearing from him would be so good.

He's on Palaven. He hitched a ride in that direction when the Sol relay was repaired back after the New Year. Sounds like it was a hell of a trip, but he's there, and they've got him in charge of the ground forces doing search and rescues, martial law, the whole shebang.

He sounds tired. Not really happy, but maybe content? Useful, anyway. He was surprised to hear me on the other end of the comm, asked how I was doing. I said fine. He said bullshit.

We talked for a bit. Not long enough, since it was an official call and he needed to talk to the brass. But damn, it was good to talk to him.

He's going to write, if he ever gets half an hour to himself. I think we both want to make plans for the anniversary. That's a few months off, but thinking ahead is good, right?


	9. Chapter 9

**April 28, 2187**

I had dinner at Mom and Dad's last night. Dad grilled some steak, Mom made her famous broccoli salad, and of course there were baked potatoes with cheese and butter. Man, you just don't eat like that off-world. That's probably the thing I miss most when I'm on a ship: food that isn't freeze-dried and rehydrated. The Citadel's cafés weren't bad, but still, not like home. I don't want Batarian shard wine, damn it, I want Molson's.

Finished off the night with a beer on the deck, looking over English Bay. The weather's gotten nice, though it's still chilly when the sun goes down. Of course I thought of you. It's comforting to think that maybe you _are_ seeing what I'm seeing, wherever you are.

Dad let me sit in silence for a bit, then asked how I was doing. Mom's asked that every time I talk to her, but Dad…he's avoided it. There's too much to do still, tasks and concerns that take precedence over the mental state of just one soldier, even if the soldier in question is his son. I understand that. Focus on what you need to do; everything else can come later.

I know that's how you did what you did. Emotions get tamped down and locked away. You can't operate otherwise.

Anyway, I let the question sit. I almost brushed it off with a "better", which is what I'd been telling Mom. The look he gave me, though, said he wanted more than that. So I told him. About your birthday, about Hillary, about the anger that's finally gone. He didn't say anything. He smiled a bit at my description of you, what I said at the town square. But the rest of it, he just accepted.

At the end, he tapped his beer against mine. "Time moves on" was all he said.

Yeah. Yeah, it does.

* * *

><p><strong>May 2, 2187<strong>

So, you actually worked with Jack to take down the Collectors. This is tough to get my mind around. I mean, yeah, her biotics are impressive. Her students seem to have taken to her teaching style, though I can't say I completely support it. She's a bit harsh, don't you think?

I can see her abilities being a bonus, but her attitude? She even said herself that teaching at Grissom has mellowed her out. _Mellowed her out._ What was she like before? I doubted you'd take her shit, and I can't see her obeying any sort of regs. So how did you manage it?

A mystery of the ages, I guess.

Her attitude aside, it was good to talk with her. She was at headquarters for a meeting and took time to find me. She's helping with my students, seeing as they've still got me behind a desk instead of on the training field. She's got good instincts. I might not agree with all of her methods, but she gets results, and that's what counts, right?

Just before she left, she stopped and looked at me, this really intense, narrowed-eyed stare. _Suck it up, Alenko. She's not here, so you've gotta be._

She doesn't pull punches. Maybe that's why you didn't shove her out the airlock.

* * *

><p><strong>May 14, 2187<strong>

They called me into a briefing room today. Lots of folks in attendance. I thought I'd done something stupid, the way no one would look at me. Did I match column A with column C by accident?

Hackett walked in. Started talking about resources being stretched, spotty communications, evidence, assumptions. I must've had the strangest expression on my face. He told me to sit down.

They found your cybernetics, he said. It wasn't much but at least maybe we'd finally know, there would be some clue. I smiled, nodded, said that was good.

He frowned at me. Said the words again.

They found _you_. Identified you by your cybernetics. _You_.

I can't


	10. Chapter 10

**May 16, 2187**

I'm writing this as I sit beside your bed, staring at you. I've been awake for over thirty-six hours, but I can't sleep. I can't close my eyes.

I might wake up to find you gone, to find that this was all just a dream. Another nightmare. I couldn't take that. So I'm ignoring the nurses and their pointed glances at the cot. I will sit here and watch you and wait for your eyes to open, if only for a second.

It's you.

* * *

><p><strong>May 17, 2187<strong>

I woke up with my head on the bed beside you, a blanket draped over my shoulders. My back is sore. I think I'll take the nurses' hint and use the cot in a bit.

I'm splitting my time between talking to you and writing this so you can read it later. I know you know I'm here, but I'm not sure how much you're hearing. Your eyes opened earlier and you smiled at me before drifting off again. God, it was the greatest thing to see those not-quite-green, not-quite-grey eyes again.

Do you know where you are? Australia. _Australia_. No one knows how you got here. They found you near Melbourne, by the wreck of a refugee shuttle. There were a few other survivors and nothing to identify you, so they assumed you were one of the refugees. You've been in a coma since, recovering from your injuries. No one put two and two together, even with the cybernetics, because it's just not common knowledge you have them. It wasn't until you roused a few days ago and started repeating your name and service number that they confirmed your identity.

Just got back from a briefing with the doctor. He ran me through your list of injuries. It's okay. We'll get through this. You're making progress and those damned cybernetics are doing what they're supposed to do: keep you alive.

I'm going to move the cot a bit closer and lie down. See you soon.

* * *

><p><strong>May 18, 2187<strong>

This is bullshit. Bullshit! They don't know you. They don't know what you've gone through. You _died_, and you came back. Remember that video we saw at the Cerberus base? You were clinically brain-dead, and they brought you back. Things are nowhere near as bad now, so for that doctor to look at me and spout the idiocy he's spouting…

Limited mental capacity my ass. You _just_ woke up. You looked at me, you saw me, you _knew_ me, I know you did. The doctors don't know what the hell they're talking about. They've written you off. The savior of the human race—of the entire goddamned galaxy—and they're just giving up.

No. I won't let them.

**May 19, 2187**

You're being transferred to Vancouver. It didn't take much to get Hackett to agree. The doctors here were hesitant, but you're stable enough. We're leaving tomorrow.

I've been trying to find Miranda Lawson but damned if she left any trail. I put the word out, though, even contacted Taylor. Doctor Chakwas will be waiting for us. She's familiar with your cybernetics and their limitations. She's familiar with you. I want her to examine you, I want her to tell me you'll be okay.

I know it'll take time. You won't be up and walking next week, or next month. This is a long-term thing. I know that. But we can get through this. You're not alone anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>May 24, 2187<strong>

_Limited mental capacity._

Chakwas kept saying it over and over. Like she'd picked it up from the Australian docs and it was her new favourite phrase. It made me want to grit my teeth. Yell at her. You _looked_ at me. You _knew_ me. That's not limited! Not in the sense that they're talking.

She had an explanation for everything. Repeating your name and rank was ingrained, something so deeply drilled into each one of us that it just came out. She said it doesn't mean anything. The tests show damage.

No. You haven't said anything else, but that doesn't mean you can't. It doesn't mean you _won't_. You just need time. Why won't anyone give you time? Don't you deserve that much?

She thinks I'm imagining you looking at me too. I'm seeing things, she said. You haven't actually responded like that to anyone. And I know that's bullshit. I know what I saw.

Damn it, where the hell is Miranda?


	11. Chapter 11

**May 26, 2187**

Dad took me out onto the hospital grounds for a bit this afternoon. Sorry I was gone, but…yeah, I needed to get out there. I needed to get away from Chakwas and the other doctors, and their _looks_.

We sat down on a bench and he tossed me a datapad. It had details of your injuries. I tried to shove it back at him but he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't let me say anything, he wouldn't let me leave, until I read the damned thing. Really read it.

The docs in Australia had listed all your injuries for me. But I read it over. Again.

_Burns, ranging from first to third degree, over forty percent of your body. Mostly healed now._

_Broken right orbital socket, blind in that eye._

_Broken spine, damaged spinal cord. Significant nerve damage. Partial lower-body paralysis._

_Internal injuries, mostly healed now, too many to list._

_Missing lower left leg._

_Skull fracture, mostly healed._

_Probable brain damage from both the skull fracture and the lack of oxygen during two cardiac arrests as they struggled to stabilize you._

Damn it, why did I write that all out? You're here. You're alive. The rest of it doesn't matter.

We can get through this, Shepard.

* * *

><p><strong>May 27, 2187<strong>

You're sleeping. I'm sitting in the chair beside your bed, trying to read…something, I can't even remember what it is. A news report, maybe. I keep reading a word, then looking up, reading the same word, then looking up again.

You don't look like you. It's hard to write that. It's hard to realize that.

You're thinner. Your cheeks are gaunt. There's a red, angry-looking scar bisecting your right eyebrow, pointing toward your nostril on that side, and it stands out because your skin is so much paler than it should be. Your hair is much shorter than it was, all messy dark waves instead of being smooth and drawn back into that low bun you favoured.

I know it's you. It's just hard to reconcile.

* * *

><p><strong>May 28, 2187<strong>

Liara is here. I don't know where she was, I don't know where she's been, but I figured she'd hear. She's got eyes and ears everywhere, right?

She's definitely not the same girl we found on Therum. I wonder, did her innocence die when her mother did? Or did it disappear after the first Normandy was lost? I sort of miss her unbridled enthusiasm. She used to get so excited about everything, rambling on at the slightest encouragement. That's gone. She's much more subdued, though, really, it only makes sense. She lost her mother, she lost you, then she lost her entire world. That would dim anyone's lights.

She was all business but I could see the concern in her eyes. I left you and her alone for a bit. It didn't seem right to eavesdrop, you know? You two have a connection, you always have. I knew if you'd respond to anyone else, it would be her.

Afterwards, she came to find me, nursing a coffee in the cafeteria. She still had a concerned look about her, directed at me now. It was disconcerting. I'm not the one lying in a hospital bed. I'm fine. Tired, sure, but fine.

Damn but she's learned how to talk, hasn't she? Somehow she convinced me to head home, get some rest in a real bed. She's going to stay with you until I get back and she's promised to call me if anything happens.

I'm glad she's here. It's good to know she's got both our backs.

And she found Miranda. She'll be here the day after tomorrow.


	12. Chapter 12

**May 30, 2187**

Did Miranda and Chakwas get along on the Normandy? Because they sure don't right now.

I don't know if you saw Miranda when she came in. She took one look at you and marched back out without saying anything. I thought about following her but she had a look in her eye that suggested I might end up levitated or something if I did.

When Liara came to get me later, she told me that Miranda and Chakwas were having it out in an examination room down the hall. Miranda was arguing against the decisions made by the Australian docs, Chakwas was defending them. Miranda was pushing for surgeries and more cybernetics. Chakwas reminded her that Cerberus and its limitless pockets are gone.

It took a little while, but I got them both to calm down enough to explain everything.

Miranda wants permission to examine you fully, check your cybernetics, see if more will help, and so on. She says that she can repair your right eye, the brain damage, the paralysis and your leg, given the right expertise and the right equipment. I know she can; she brought you back from brain-death. After that, this must all seem minor.

Chakwas is hesitant. I know she wants what's best for you. She said as much and I can see it in her eyes. She's just scared. And I understand that.

Objectively—and, God, it's hard to be objective, but I'm trying—I can see the invisible line that we're approaching. At what point do you cease to be you? You were still you after Cerberus brought you back, but would this take us to that line? Over it? Will you cease to be human, or will be synthetic? Are they exclusive?

I don't know. We just fought a war against synthetics that wanted to destroy all organic life. I'm not saying cybernetic implants put you on the same scale as the Reapers, Shepard, but…there is a line. I'm just not quite sure where it is.

**May 31, 2187**

I'm going to recommend that Miranda is allowed full access. It might take some doing—she's not exactly in the best books with the Alliance. But she's your best hope, I know she is.

I'm not sure whose word has the most weight in this situation. Mine? Hackett's? I'll find a way to make my voice heard.

**June 2, 2187**

I don't know what to do. I mean, I should have seen this coming, but I didn't. It never even occurred to me that this would be a hurdle, but of course it is. God, I'm so stupid.

The Alliance won't fund the procedures Miranda is recommending. I understand it. I do. You're just one person. You might be the reason why we're all walking around alive instead of being husks, but you're just one person. There are millions out there that need help, too. Earth is still recovering and rebuilding, and I know that if they have a choice between spending credits that will help only one person versus spending credits to help a multitude, they'll go for the latter.

The needs of the many, right?

Okay. It's okay. We'll figure something out. You're still here. We can go with Chakwas' plan of rehabilitation. It'll take longer, but we can do it. It's okay.


	13. Chapter 13

**June 4, 2187**

I've been sitting here for the last ten minutes, trying to figure out how to write this down because every time I try to say something out loud, my throat refuses to work.

Liara walked into the hospital today and handed Miranda access to an account with the funds needed to take care of all of your surgeries, and then some. I don't know where she got the money. I don't really want to know. She didn't quite meet my eyes when I asked, and said only that she called in some favours. I'm trying not to think of the types of favours a Shadow Broker might be owed.

Miranda, professional as ever, got straight to work. I think she might have even smiled. I don't know her well, but I'd seen enough hints of her frustration at not being able to help. With her father dead, theoretically she should have inherited his estate—but Henry Lawson was no fool. He locked her and Oriana out, a final petulant act from a man far more concerned with himself than his progeny.

I was about to leave the room, to share the news with you, when Liara smiled at me, sort of sadly. Then she said something, something that struck a chord.

_The galaxy still needs her. They need to know that even the Reapers couldn't defeat her, and that despite the hardship, everywhere, there's still hope. If Shepard can beat these astronomical odds, they can survive another day. She's just a person…even if she is the best of us._

I had to look away at that. I remember those words. I shouldn't be surprised she knew about them.

God, I hope the cost of this isn't too high for her.

**June 6, 2187**

Word is starting to spread that you're here. I'm surprised the news has stayed under wraps for this long, to be honest. I'd thought that someone would have jumped at the opportunity to pad their bank account before now.

They're keeping the media out of the hospital. That's one benefit to being in a military establishment, right? Lots of guards with guns to deter folks who have no business here. It does mean that coming and going is a bit tougher. Security to get into the building is the same as always, but with the media outside, it's a hassle.

Eventually I guess there will have to be a formal statement—but I'll leave that to Hackett. I don't want to do it.

**June 8, 2187**

Word has definitely started to spread. In the last forty-eight hours, I've fielded calls from Garrus, Tali, Sam Traynor, James, Steve Cortez, Joker, and even Wrex. (I recorded all of them, by the way, so you can listen later. I think you'll especially like Wrex's.)

Garrus is trying to get here. He wouldn't listen when I said to focus on Palaven. I believe his exact words were "Like hell, Alenko."

I can't blame him. If I were in his position, I'd be doing everything to get here too. I think he loves you, you know? In a brother-sister sort of way. He's not the same guy we met on the Citadel, the one who was so gung-ho and barely had time for regs. You're a big reason why he's in the position he's in; you taught him a lot, and he knows it.

He won't make it here in time for the surgery tomorrow. But you should see his ugly face when you wake up. It'll make mine look all that much better, right?

I love you, Shepard.

**June 9, 2187**

I hate waiting. I know, I should be used to it by now. That's a lot of what military life is, right? Hurry up and wait. Wait for deployment. Wait for orders. Once you've got your orders, wait for the signal to implement them. Wait, wait, wait.

The worst waiting in my life had to be after the original Normandy was destroyed, though.

A few escape pods were picked up by a freighter and taken to Omega. On the ship, no one knew anything. Who made it, who didn't. What ship had attacked us. All we knew was that the Normandy was gone. On the station, it wasn't much better. I did a head count as best I could, but I didn't know _anything._

I waited on Omega for more survivors to arrive. For you. I waited to hear from the Alliance and the Council. Hours felt like days, a day felt like a week. Then Joker showed up and told me that you weren't coming.

And then there was more waiting. Waiting for orders. Waiting for your body to be recovered. Waiting for you to be declared dead. Waiting for the damned pain to just stop, and it never did, Shepard. It got easier to ignore, but it never stopped hurting, poking me every once in awhile to remind me that, _hey, your life isn't complete. Don't forget._

So, yeah. I don't like waiting.


	14. Chapter 14

**June 10, 2187**

Liara sent me out with James, Steve and Sam with the explicit instructions to have fun. They asked me what I wanted to do. I had no idea. Drinks? A game of cards?

Fun hasn't been a part of my routine for…God, it feels like forever. Since before the Reaper attack. I've been the job. That's it. Finding entertainment on the ship is one thing, but you're still on-duty, to some extent. My time in the interior wasn't about fun, it was about learning to live. Again.

James suggested a bar downtown. Good music, popular with the Alliance. Steve talked about a movie, which Sam seemed to agree with. I didn't really want any of that. I wanted English Bay, a beer on the deck, good friends, quiet conversation.

Good thing Mom and Dad didn't mind.

Liara just called. You're awake.

**June 11, 2187**

You looked at me. You smiled. No one can dispute it now. Liara saw it, Miranda saw it, Chakwas saw it. I might have been imagining things before—maybe—but not any longer.

It's still going to be a long recovery. You won't be up and walking around tomorrow, next week, or even next month, probably, though I have no doubt you'll try to prove Miranda wrong in that.

You know what I'm most looking forward to? Not beers on the deck, though that's high on the list. No, just talking to you, Shepard. I've missed you.

Small steps, though. We'll get there.

**June 15, 2187**

I'm shaking so hard I can barely type. The reaction just hit me as I started writing this. Liara stepped out into the hall, security's gone, the doctors are done with their neverending checks. You're okay. He never got near you. Liara was there and she held him off. Maybe if I keep writing those sentences over and over again, I'll start to believe it.

Thank God he didn't hurt you.

It'll be awhile before I can go sit in the hospital courtyard and not worry that I'll come back to guards and screaming in your room. If he hadn't had three guards kneeling on his back, I would have…I probably would have killed him.

No one is going to take you from me. Not again.


	15. Chapter 15

**June 16, 2187**

Logan Wyatt. Age 22. Born and raised in upstate New York by a single mother. She was exposed to eezo when working on a colony, though whether it was a deliberate exposure or not is uncertain. By all accounts, a good man. Pleasant, easy-going, stable.

This is the man who busted into your room. This is the man who wanted to do…God, I don't know what. And how do I know him? I trained him. He's one of my students.

They won't let me interview him. Understandable, really. I don't think they trust me around him. I don't trust me around him. I just want to know why, damn it. Why?

I know he was engaged to Zach O'Shea, the fellow who killed himself in January. Does he blame you for Zach's death? Why? He'd be better to blame _me_. I was the one who wasn't there for them. I was the one relieved of duty, sent to sulk in the wilderness. Why would he try to get at you? It makes no damned sense.

I'm going to go talk to Jack. She was training them, maybe she has a better idea of what's going on.

**June 17, 2187**

Note to self: do not accuse Jack of anything without proper evidence. She has a mean right hook. Ow.

Following the hit to the jaw (not even biotically charged, she just knows how to throw a punch), we talked. Okay, yelled. At the end of the shouting match, we had students taking bets on who would win a full-out brawl between the two of us. We didn't humour them.

Logan's been AWOL since February. He fell off the grid, which is pretty easy to do these days. There are a lot of places where folks can just disappear—here, on Earth, or on any planet hit by the Reapers. Holes in the net.

He fell through. Purposely? By mistake? I wish I knew.

**June 18, 2187**

Today you woke up, really woke up, for the first time. You've opened your eyes briefly before, you've smiled sleepily, but this time, you were really there.

I probably had the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, I know that much. I'm sorry I didn't say a lot. I just couldn't.

I won't try to insist that all the blinking was from dust in my eyes. This is the twenty-second century, I can admit to being emotional. Seeing you looking at me, really looking at me, and then saying my name, saying hi…

There are no words, Shepard. No words.

**June 19, 2187**

I hadn't really prepared myself for the conversation we just had, Shepard. I mean, I knew it would happen? I know you. Of course you'd want a sitrep as soon as you were aware enough to ask for one.

Telling you about all the time that's passed, what's happened…it wasn't easy. There is a lot of good news. I tried to focus on that. Earth is rebuilding. People are continuing on. We won the war.

But it's not all good. There's EDI's death, though you didn't seem surprised by that. I noticed how you didn't look at me when I asked you what happened on the Citadel. That's what you do; you don't lie, you avoid. You remember _something_, even if you say you don't, but I won't press. You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't.

Note: remember to download the Sudoku puzzle app. And bring in the chessboard.


	16. Chapter 16

**June 22, 2187**

I'm sorry I was quiet today. I tried to keep things upbeat—you've got enough to focus on without worrying about me. So I'll just tell you here and pretend we had this conversation.

Logan committed suicide last night. He left a note and they let me see it, since I was mentioned in it. I stared at the file for I don't know how long before I opened it. I wanted to read it, I wanted answers, but I knew it wasn't going to be easy.

He didn't blame _you _for anything. He blamed _me._ I let him down. I let Zach down. I wasn't there when I should have been. He thought my unavailability, my lack of guidance and leadership, was a big reason Zach killed himself—and maybe it was, or maybe it was just the catalyst, I don't know. So when he heard that you were alive, he wanted revenge. Easy enough to dig up his old uniform and walk in. With the general confusion everywhere, it looks like his clearance was never revoked.

He wanted to hurt you to hurt me. He wanted me to pay for Zach's death by losing you.

Given the chance to go back and change my reactions and focus, I would. In the first couple of months after the end of the war, I could only focus on what was in front of me. I couldn't think about the future, I couldn't think about the past, just the shit that needed to be done _now_. As things calmed down and I had more time to think, that's when I started falling apart.

I can make excuses. I can give reasons. But none of them will bring back two kids who had a hell of a lot of potential. I screwed up.

I'm just glad you didn't end up paying the price for my mistakes.

**June 29, 2187**

Therapy is supposed to hurt, Shepard. If it was easy to lift your leg and bend your knee, you wouldn't need a physical therapist to help you relearn how to do it, right?

Look, I have an idea where you're at. I was laid up for weeks after Mars, remember? It wasn't nearly as bad as this, I know, but it was frustrating as hell. Especially when I felt better and I wanted to get back into the action, but the doctors said no.

So don't snark at me when I'm just trying to help, and stop giving your therapist a hard time. You want to get back on your feet, right? Ditch the pissy attitude and focus on what you need to do to get there.

Okay, I vented. I feel a bit better. You might need the tough love speech soon, but not yet. Never hurts to practice, though, right?

**July 1, 2187**

You couldn't stay up to see the fireworks, which is a shame. We've got a pretty good view from your room, actually. Have you ever heard about Canada Day, Shepard? I remember seeing vids in school about parties on old Parliament Hill, hundreds of thousands of people. It was nothing like the USA's Independence Day, but still, impressive. Remind me, I'll see if I can find one on the extranet sometime, if you're interested.

Anyway, it's not something that's celebrated much anymore. It's a grassroots, folk thing, not an official holiday. But this year's a bit different. I think people just want any excuse to let go. I can hear cheering in the streets with each firework detonation. The show itself is pretty spectacular. I'll see if I can record some of it to show you tomorrow.

You're not even stirring, despite the noise. I know the therapy every day is wearing you out, but you're doing great. You need to work on your patience, though. You'll progress, but give yourself a break, all right? The galaxy doesn't need your expertise as a saviour right now, so you have all the time you need to heal and recover.

Sleep well, Shepard. I'll see you in the morning.

**July 5, 2187**

Shepard,

Since you've decided to read my journal, I'll just make things easy for you. I'll write this all in here.

I wasn't keeping anything from you. I would have told you about Hillary. Eventually. No, I don't know when because, damn it, it's not something that's easy to do, all right?

Did you even read through the entries before that one, or did you just skim through looking for a hint that I'd been unfaithful? You were _dead_, Shepard. I'd lost you again. I was broken, all right? I'm not going to belittle it by saying it was stupid or a mistake, because I needed it. I needed to know _I_ wasn't dead, too. Can you understand that?

Go back. Read the whole damned thing, since you've bothered hacking it already. Start at the beginning and _read _it.

I never stopped loving you, Shepard, and I never will.

You wanted me to get the hell out of your room, so I'm gone. Let me know if you want me to come back. Or not.

Love,  
>Kaidan<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

**July 6, 2187**

I got your message. You need time to figure things out. I get it. I'm disappointed, but I get it.

Look, I'm still going to write in here, okay? It's sort of a habit, now. Helps me keep my head on straight. Read it, or not, I don't care.

No, that's a lie. I do care. I want you to read it. I want you to know what I'm thinking. Sometimes I say things in here I can't say aloud, so maybe it will help. I don't know.

**July 7, 2187**

I spent the day on a work crew downtown. Getting down into the dust and the dirt, it's easy to lose sight of the progress that's been made over the past months. So much has been done, but there's still so much left to do.

It's difficult to comprehend the level of destruction. Even standing in the middle of it, in an area of God knows how many city blocks that's just rubble, it's tough to wrap my mind around it that this is just a small portion of the damage in this city, and there are other cities, all over the planet, that were hit just as hard or harder.

We're coming back from it, though. That's something, right?

One of the good things about working on the crew is being too exhausted to think much by the end of the day. I need that right now.

**July 8, 2187**

One of the bad things about working on the crew is that repetitive tasks let the mind wander.

I started wondering how your therapy sessions were going, if you're still giving your therapist a hard time. Has she got you standing yet?

Then I started thinking about Liara and her Shadow Broker-ness. I hope she isn't feeding you too much intel about what's what in the galaxy. You need a chance to heal before you start worrying about that.

And then I started wondering about Garrus's progress in getting to Earth. I haven't heard from him. He must be having a hell of a time either getting leave or finding transport. I'll send him a note tomorrow before I head out again.

Mostly, I thought about how much I miss you, Shepard.

That's it. That's all I'm going to say.

**July 9, 2187 (afternoon)**

Kaidan,

I sent you a message this morning but no response. I want to make sure you see this, so I'll write it here. Go ahead and delete it after you read it.

I read everything you wrote, all of it. I could ramble on and on, but I want to see you. I want to talk to you about it face to face.

I don't want you to apologize. I stuck my nose in where it shouldn't have been and it got pinched. It hurt. But I understand it, all of it.

Come back. Let's figure this out together.

I love you, Kaidan.

S.

**July 9, 2187 (evening)**

Kaidan, send me a message, please. I don't care how, I'm watching everything.

I heard about the accident downtown. I'm trying not to think the worst, but I can't reach you.

You need to call me.

Love,  
>S.<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**July 9, 2187 (night)**

Note to self: when laid up with a migraine, let someone know before taking meds and passing out.

I'm sorry, Shepard, that was the worst possible timing. I didn't mean to worry you. Though if I say I liked the kiss I got out of it, will you hit me? Probably. I'm going to say it anyway.

I've been doing some thinking, and I want you to keep the access to the journal. I want you to read this. Hell, I've been writing it to you since the beginning, so you'd might as well. We both know I'm not the best at telling people what I'm thinking, sometimes, so maybe this will help with the communication. We can talk about it tomorrow, but I think it will be good.

I want this to work, Shepard. We finally have the time and I don't want to screw things up again.

No, I'm not going anywhere tonight. You asked, I'm staying. I'll see you in the morning. I love you.

**CURATOR'S NOTE**

— **inserted by Marika DeSanto, 2358-12-02 —**

Unfortunately, at this point, the data degrades. We were only able to salvage one additional entry.

Regardless, this journal is an inspiring and very personal look at the events following the Great Reaper War and the start of the Chaotic Peace that followed. It gives us a glimpse into the life of the Shepard but more so into her companion, Kaidan Alenko, a man often overlooked in the annals of history.

By all accounts a soft-spoken man who did not share the Shepard's flair for public speaking, he did not mind living his life in her shadow. It's clear from this journal that he had an inner strength to rival her own. They forged a partnership through personal and professional adversity that lasted until their deaths.

They had no biological children, but they did leave a legacy. They retired from public life shortly after this account and, in 2192, they adopted their first child, a biotically talented boy who was orphaned in the Great Reaper War. In 2195, they founded a small school for gifted biotic children, on Earth, using the Alenko land in the interior of British Columbia. The peaceful surroundings helped the children who attended focus their abilities and produced some of the most powerful and balanced human biotics in history. They adopted another child, a girl, in 2197. Their son, Marcus Alenko, went on to become a Spectre in the New Council and his sister, Karin, enjoyed a long and storied career in colonial politics.

Most importantly, the legacy of the Shepard and Kaidan Alenko was proof that despite challenges and obstacles, humanity can overcome, become better, become more.

They were the best of us, but they were still one of us.

**September 18, 2187**

There's something poetic about being up here, now, isn't there? Where the end began. Earth looks much more peaceful than it did a year ago. No angry red streaks, no hazy layers of smoke. It looks right, you know? The way it should look.

It's been so long since I've been in space just for fun. When you're on a mission, it's tough to just stop and look at the stars. You can't admire how magnificent it all is, how wondrous, because you just don't have time to contemplate it. Space is just something you have to fly through to get where you need to be.

The ring still feels odd on my finger, but right, too. Having Admiral Hackett preside was good. But if you think I'm going to show anyone that hardcover paper journal you got me as a wedding present, you're insane. Maybe I'll fill it with notes to make you blush, in retaliation for the puppies on the cover. That might be fun.

But, anyway. Full circle, right, Shepard? Full circle.

Sleep well, love. I'll see you in the morning.


End file.
